After we played music at the Farmer’s Market, I picked up some things from the vendors nearby. I didn’t know how I’d use the vegetables I bought—I simply got what I wanted and brought the lot home. I began cooking at three, with half a sunny afternoon to make sense of it all.

I started with the edamame, which were still attached to their stems. I was used to buying them in the frozen food section or ordering a bowl with beer in a Japanese restaurant. Stripping the pods off the woody stems, by contrast, made me appreciate more the work invested between soil and mouth. I couldn’t wait to steam them up, add the salt, and eat them with my fingers between sips of Allagash beer.

Next I cut up the butternut squash and put the fleshy chunks into the heating water. Then came the yams and the onion, the garlic and the freshly ground pepper. After the squash was tender enough to spear with a fork, I added powdered milk to give it a surprisingly creamy taste. In the blender the concoction went, and voila, cream of butternut squash soup.

While the soup was cooking I stripped the basil leaves from their fragile stems, added them to the garlic, and processed the green mound with extra virgin olive oil, walnuts, and parmesan. This was summer pesto at its best, made from Italian basil leaves in their prime. That would make a fine entrée.

Now for the other side dish, the one for the remaining vegetables. My ratatouille recipe called, so I proceeded through the steps of cutting and cooking the farmer’s labors: purple eggplant, red red tomatoes, a white onion that looked sweet enough to bite, beefy zucchinis, and the crispiest of green peppers. Olive oil and slivers of kalamata olives with a few sprigs of basil promised a finishing touch that filled the air with a summery scent.

I turned off the stove just as All Things Considered finished. Then we had a meal to remember, as we looked at the trees enjoying their few last days as a deep green sea, breathing in the still warm air, before they turned to gold.